


Heads Or Tails

by pastomatoes



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Can/Pru, Canada tops the hell out of Prussia, Gilbert has a thing for men in uniform, Humiliation, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Smut, Uniform Kink, dominant Matthew is hot af, mountie uniform, poor prussia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 06:23:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4294128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastomatoes/pseuds/pastomatoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gilbert loves confident, assertive Matthew… So, naturally, he asks to see him in a Mountie uniform.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heads Or Tails

A hesitant question, one that makes Matthew's already-shaky voice sound even more timid. 

There's a lull in the conversation as he and Gilbert sit down for dinner and Matthew, palms clammy and unable to hold his pizza, finally finds the nerve to lay down the question he had been dying to ask for months now:

_"Can I top?"_

He's met with silence.

Gilbert finally finds his voice. "Can you what?"

Matthew's face burns a color of red only seen on the Canadian's flag as he tries to clarify. "I'd like to try topping, if you're comfortable with that."

"What kind of topping?" Gilbert questions, eyebrows knitting together as he leans across the table like he's about to share the world's biggest secret. "You'll have to be more specific, I mean… Shit, Matt, there's pepperoni, mushrooms, olives…" He squints, deep in thought. "I guess if you're feeling real adventurous, you could try octopus, but don't count me in on that one; I ain't no ocean-lovin' Japanese, you hear?"

"Gilbert," Matthew sighs, pinching his nose. " _I don't mean pizza toppings_."

A look of realization spreads across the Prussian's face. "Oh. _Oh_."

Matthew's face pales and he starts picking at the cheese on his pizza. "Sorry," he chokes. "Let's pretend I never brought it up-"

"No, no!" Gilbert insists, scooting his chair right next to his boyfriend's. "No, Matt, I'd love to let you try topping. That sounds nice, Birdie. Why the hell were you so embarrassed to ask?"

"I… I don't know, I just… I know you've never really bottomed before..."

"Well," Gilbert answers, "I've never really loved anyone like I love you, either." His eyes light up when he says it, and he says it with such sincerity that Matthew's breath catches and he forgets why he had been scared to ask. 

"You're so sappy. A real idiot, too," Matthew says adoringly, finally meeting Gilbert's steady gaze, the nerves melting away.

Gilbert grins. "I'm your idiot. And anyway, I've bottomed before, it's just… Just been awhile."

Matt nods. "And I've topped before."

"Don't remind me," Gilbert says, trying to shake the jealousy from his voice, barely able to keep from asking who it was with. 

Matthew laughs, sliding a hand onto Gilbert's thigh. "It was a long time ago. You don't need to get all possessive now. Anyway, you really wanna try letting me top?" 

Gilbert tilts his head, a smirk playing across his lips. "Yeah, let's do it… But I do have one request."

It must have been awhile since he's been laid.

That is the only excuse Gilbert can make when, for no apparent reason, a man starts helping him retrieve a couple of boxes that he had received in the mail and… Well, Gilbert gets hard.

And, of course, the fact that the man helping him is unbearably hot isn't enough… No, he has to _bend over_ to pick up a box, showcase that _perfect ass_ and-

Oh, yeah… _Be a fucking Mountie._

Which would be perfectly fine, if… Well, if Gilbert didn't have a hardcore fetish for any and all uniforms. Hell, forget uniforms, this kid could probably wear a fucking _box_ and Gilbert would still want to tap that… 

That's beside the point. The point is that now he's hard as rock and hiding behind boxes and since when did he have shame? 

The Mountie laughs, rubbing the back of his neck after helping Gilbert lift everything (and one can only wonder _what the fuck_ that Prussian had ordered online that needed to be delivered in multiple, relatively heavy boxes). "Name's Matthew. Saw you struggling and figured I'd help out," the man says, shooting a grin. Gilbert nods. "I'm Gilbert and yeah, I… Appreciate it," he answers, and he does, mostly because now he has the perfect image to jerk off to later. 

"You gonna invite me in for a drink?" the man asks, and while his tone is playful, it makes Gilbert stop cold. He immediately begins racking his brain for an excuse. "I, um… Sorry, I'm busy," he mutters, fumbling with the packages in his hands. Matthew's lips pull into a too-hot-to-be-true smirk and Gilbert curses those very lips under his breath. 

"Yeah?" Matt challenges, crossing his arms and shifting his weight. "What exactly are you busy with?" Gilbert's heart skips. "With stuff. A-and _things!_ " Matthew removes his hat, running his fingers through tousled blond locks before putting it back on and staring at Gilbert until the Prussian believes he can feel those (beautiful, damn them) eyes burning into him. "Well, that's not the least bit suspicious," Matt says, and the sarcasm bites at Gilbert, raises the hair on his arms. 

" _Fine_ ," Gil finally spits, rolling his eyes. "Would you like to come in for a drink, maybe spend the night? We can braid each other's hair, paint our nails!" 

It's so quiet for awhile that Gilbert wonders if maybe he crossed the line, but then Matthew shouts "Of course!" and flashes a dorky grin before striding right past the Prussian to start towards the house. Gil can't do anything but sigh and pray that the Canadian drinks quickly and leaves so that he can fix his newfound _problem._

Gilbert shoves the front door open, motioning for the man to go ahead, glaring at him the whole time and seething when the fuck-up doesn't even take his boots off, trailing snow all along his wooden floors. Matthew immediately walks over to the counter, leaning against it and crossing his arms. "Aren't you gonna put those packages somewhere?" he asks. The Prussian silently begs Matthew to either leave him to help himself or throw him onto the kitchen floor and fuck him senseless…

But instead of voicing his desires, he forces a smile onto his face and turns so that his back is facing Matthew before setting the boxes on the floor. He stretches his shirt and tugs it down, desperate to hide his raging hard-on and wishing he had something like a pillow to put over his crotch. 

He takes a deep breath and turns around, though he immediately wishes he hadn't; that damn Mountie just keeps looking more and more appealing, even more appealing than the knife in the sink that he could use to put an end to his misery. It doesn't help that Matthew's eye contact is unwavering and hot and _shit, Gilbert, stop thinking about those eyes looking up at you as he sucks your cock-_

"What-" Gilbert squeaks, his voice jumping up five octaves (hell, that isn't the only thing that's up) when Matthew starts lazily toying with the buttons of his jacket and all Gilbert can think about is how fucking skillful those fingers must be and how badly he needs them inside and how much he wants to tear those very buttons off… 

He clears his throat, tries again: "W-what do you want to drink?" Matthew tilts his head, scanning Gilbert with watchful eyes. "Surprise me," he says, and that's _all_ he says, but Gilbert starts questioning his entire life because he never knew "Surprise me" could sound so sexy. 

"Yeah," Gil manages, and though his voice wavers and shakes he's proud he got anything out at all. "Yeah, sure." He walks (waddles) to the fridge, throwing it open with far too much vigor. He scans the inside, trying to ignore how fucking painful it is to have his hard cock restrained for so long. His fingers twitch, wanting to do something, _anything_ , to bring him relief… But he can't, not now. _Just get him a drink, commit everything about him to memory, and ask him to leave,_ Gilbert tells himself calmly. He exhales. He can do this. 

"Everything okay?" The voice, _that voice_ , is behind him, and it's owner is, too. Matthew is standing _right behind him_ and fuck, Gilbert can't do this… "Yeah, it's fine… I'm fine," he answers, but his voice, hot and bothered, gives him away.

For a moment he thinks that's enough… Matthew will back away, give him space- But no, one of Matt's hands come around to close the fridge and the very fingers that make Gilbert's mouth water slither across one of his hips, pushing between the fabric of his shirt and his sweat pants. Gilbert feels like his skin is on fire when Matthew touches him, but despite the warmth he breaks out in goosebumps. "You sound sick," Matt comments, sounding concerned, and Gilbert wants to say, "No, just turned on beyond belief," but he can't bring himself to do it. All that comes out is a whimper. 

"Well, I'll be damned- You're hard, aren't you?" Matthew whispers, hot breath sliding down Gilbert's neck, and the Prussian's knees nearly buckle at how humiliated (and aroused) he is. A large, pale hand trails across the hem of Gilbert's sweatpants. "Hornier than a fucking housewife, huh?" Matthew laughs. Gilbert's face burns red and he tries to hide it against the fridge, pressing it against the cool metal in a futile attempt to escape the embarrassment. 

"Don't worry," Matthew murmurs, his voice still patronizingly low. "I'm supposed to help damsels in distress. That's my job." Normally Gilbert would sneer and scowl at such a condescending title, but all he can do is breathe heavily and press back, wordlessly asking for more… And Matthew gives it to him, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of the albino's boxers and wrapping firmly around his desire. They set to tugging lazily, with a messy pattern that makes the Prussian's brain spark and melt. Matthew chuckles at the feeling of Gilbert falling into submissiveness under something as simple as his hand's ministrations. 

"You've got a thing for men in uniform, eh? Let me indulge you," Matthew proposes, the smirk never falling from his lips. His hand slides up Gilbert's cock, his thumb flicking across the head before he tightens his fist and lets it fall all the way down to the base. Gilbert answers with hiccups of sharp inhales and heated whines of agreement. 

Matt laughs when Gilbert leans back into him, pale fingers reaching over his head to grasp desperately at the Canadian's hair. They tangle and pull, begging for more, faster, tighter, wetter, _now_. Matthew grips one of Gil's hips and flips him around, slamming him back so that his spine lay flush against the fridge behind him. He roughly grabs the Prussian's useless hands and pins them above white hair. 

Matthew doesn't relent; in fact, he speeds up, his fist offering a celestially tight space for the older man to rut into. He is only minimally surprised when Gilbert comes abruptly with a chopped breath and an arched back, his body tearing away from the fridge in a hopeless attempt to get impossibly closer to the Mountie's body. He gasps, twisting against Matt's grip and clenching his eyes shut to escape the humility. Cruelly, Matt pulls away, leaving Gilbert cold and shuddering. A feral grin settles across the Canadian's lips at the writhing, panting mess he's made of the usually-proud-and-tall Prussian. 

"Tsk. You got cum on my jacket," Matthew comments distastefully, and he says it as detached and unimpressed as if he were doing something mundane like shopping at the grocery store or retrieving the mail. He looks up from studying his dirtied fabric and it's been awhile since he's seen something as satisfying as watching Gilbert's pale face flood with color at his mere words. 

Gilbert's mouth falls open, closes, opens again. "S-sorry…" he finally says, dumbfounded. 

Matthew snorts. "You should be. This is good material." 

Gilbert steps forward and, to Matthew's amusement, drops to his knees. 

"I'll make it up to you," the older man promises, voice low and heavy. 

Matthew laughs… Full-out _laughs_. "I don't want your mouth. God only knows what- _who_ \- you've had in there recently. C'mon, get off your knees. You wanna make it up to me?" 

"Yeah," Gilbert answers breathlessly, getting to his feet. Matthew smiles, leans over, lifts Gilbert and _fuck, sometimes the Prussian forgets his boyfriend is completely capable of carrying him-_

Matthew walks to the counter with ease, setting Gilbert on it. The Prussian is granted no time to wonder just what Matt has in mind- Fingers are already pressing against his mouth, prying to gain access. The fingers meet no resistance; Gilbert willingly parts his lips and lets them slip past his teeth before closing around them and swirling his tongue around the tips. 

"You really like sucking things, huh?" Matt questions, quirking a brow. "If it's yours," Gil replies, but it comes out gargled and muffled and all he earns for his attempt at speaking is another finger in his mouth. "You're real messy, you know that?" Matthew whispers, and while he had intended for there to be poison behind his statement, there's nothing but adoration. He watches quietly as Gilbert douses his fingers in so much spit that some starts to escape from between the older man's lips, bubbling up and making his oh-so-fuckable mouth look more and more appealing by the second. 

Every last ounce of Matt's willpower goes into not pulling Gilbert off the counter and pushing him back onto his knees to take the Canadian's cock down his throat- And _god_ , Matt wants to be down that throat, especially with Gilbert showcasing his skills by hollowing his cheeks and curling his tongue and… 

"Should be good by now," Matthew murmurs, reluctantly removing his fingers from Gilbert's skilled mouth (and Gilbert must know how bad Matthew wants his mouth, because he smiles, eyes glimmering deviously). 

Somehow, with the help of whatever deity exists, Matthew manages to tear his eyes away from that tempting mouth. He pulls Gilbert's pants and boxers down to his ankles with his free hand. Before Gilbert can even comprehend what's happening, there's a finger pressing inside him, wet with his own saliva. His lashes flutter, eyelids flickering, and the finger is only there for a second before he's panting something barely comprehensible about "another." 

Matthew adds his middle finger to the mix and revels in the way he makes Gilbert gasp just by curling the two slightly. He starts scissoring them, probing and prying and sliding his ring finger in with ease. He knows he's hit that spot deep inside of Gilbert when the man lets out a loud, elongated moan fit for a cheap porno. 

"Please," Gilbert breathes, and while he isn't sure what he's begging for exactly, he knows Matthew can sate him. Matt nods, biting his lip so hard he thinks he tastes blood. He removes his fingers and, before Gilbert can even begin to complain about the loss, lines his cock up before sheathing himself completely inside the older man. 

A sharp inhale, and neither of them know which one it came from. Gilbert's head spins and for a moment he sees two of Matthew, both clenching their eyes shut because that sudden tight heat is almost too much to handle. 

" _Please_ ," Gilbert says again, sounding near tears as he digs his heels into Matthew's back, urging him on. Matt opens his eyes, shivering at the sight of Gilbert in such a compromising position, at feeling Gilbert's body mold and comply to his cock so well. He pulls out almost completely, and Gilbert is about to whine, but-

There are sparks when Matthew thrusts back in and " _Yes!_ " The air rips from Gilbert's lungs and his throat constricts, mouth dry and toes curling. The pace Matt sets is immediately punishing and unforgiving. Gilbert's fingers clench into a tight fist in the air, unable to decide if they want to grip the counter or tangle in Matt's hair, if they want to hold onto that hot-ass uniform for leverage or rip it right off his boyfriend's beautiful body.

His fingers finally settle for knocking Matthew's hat off and twisting in those gorgeous locks for leverage. He tries to rock his hips up to meet the younger man's thrusts, but Matthew is driving into him with abandon, reckless but precise, wild but entirely satisfying. 

"Fuck, you're so tight," Matt snarls, voice guttural, but Gilbert doesn't answer, _can't_ answer- He can't remember any language, can't even remember his own damn name. All he knows is Matthew is inside of him, _so beautifully inside of him_ , and Gilbert never wants it to end, can't recall how he ever lived without Matthew completing him like this. 

It's all so unbearably fast, so painfully deep, and Gilbert has never felt so full, so stretched, so close to his limits in all his life… The fact that it's Matthew- shy, passive, Matthew- that's plowing into him like a goddamn animal turns Gilbert on beyond belief. No one gets to see Matthew lose control like this, no one gets to see him leave the polite façade at the door, no one gets to see all of that withheld rage come rolling out in powerful waves, no one gets to see him asserting the dominance he deserves with the quick snapping of his hips… 

_No one but Gilbert._

Matthew all but growls as he pounds into Gilbert and if the Prussian weren't so busy moaning like a whore he would laugh to think about all the people who had ever undermined the Canadian's strength.

Gilbert is helpless to prevent chants from falling past his lips. He feels everything come rushing to him in a split moment: The sharp pain as his head snaps back against the cupboard, the searing burn as the muscles in his legs tense impossibly, the wet slide of Matt's cock inside of him, reaching parts of him he didn't even know existed and hell, if Gilbert doesn't want to worship it… Matt's cock strikes that spot _over and over_ , unrelenting, unabating, endless, _over and over_. The heat deep in Gilbert's stomach builds until he thinks he might _die,_ and-

"Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy- _Canada!_ "

-the heat coils tightly before snapping, and Gilbert believes he _has_ died.

Matthew's breath hitches before catching abruptly, and fuck, he's seeing stars. He inhales with a stutter as the sound of Gilbert's voice breaking over his nation's name echoes in his mind and he thinks he must have ascended into heaven, surely, because he's never heard anything so fucking hot before-

The Canadian's vision clouds over as Gilbert shakily grips his hair and forces him down for a rough kiss, all teeth and tongue and come-for-me. Matthew thrusts once, twice- That's all it takes for him to lose himself, spiraling and crying soundlessly into Gilbert's waiting, open mouth. Gilbert drinks Matthew's noises, tucking them into his cheek with his tongue and tasting them before letting them slide down his throat. 

Violent shaking, knitted brows, empty sobs… It's been so long, _too_ long, since Matthew's needed Gilbert like this. The younger man's toes curl inside his boots, either trying to prevent him from toppling over or to keep him latched onto some part of this earth as his vision flashes white and he can't breathe but he doesn't think he wants to. 

Gilbert, still trembling, deliriously showers Matthew's face with kisses between pants. He pulls his boyfriend in with weary legs, trying to help him ride out his orgasm, because fuck, the kid is so gone.

Moments pass- or hell, maybe hours, neither of them have a sense of time anymore- and the two simply lean against the other for support, unable to hold up their own bodies. Heavy panting fades to silence, and then Matthew pulls back, letting out a breathy, victorious laugh. "You called me Canada," he says, in awe. Gilbert looks at his flushed boyfriend and smirks when he sees those dilated pupils because Matthew is the true picture of a nation at the moment: high off the idea of claiming another, of making a nation cry out as they're brought together. The image of Matthew so power-hungry makes Gilbert's heart skip pleasantly. 

"Yeah, I guess I did," Gilbert answers. 

"You… You've never called me that while we were fucking."

"Well," Gilbert says, shrugging, "you'll just have to top more often, then, won't you?"


End file.
